The Way We Are
by Agent Xero
Summary: There are many things about her mother thirteen year old Henrietta Bishop knew. There was, however, one thing in her infinite wisdom she did not. They fight, argue and bicker constantly leaving Olivia's teenage daughter to believe her and her mother are nothing alike. All it takes is one heart-stopping moment to make Etta believe they are more similar than she thinks. [one-shot]


**Note: **Just a little angsty POliviEtta one-shot for you all. Happy Valentine's Day! "Chasing Neverland" to be updated soon!

* * *

**The Way We Are**

There were many things about her mother thirteen year old Henrietta Bishop knew.

Fashion, first and foremost, was _not_ something high on her mother's radar. The many times Etta had gone into her closet had stunned her; the amount of blacks and greys her mother had hanging had been absolutely _mind-boggling_- but she was learning, Etta mused. For the past few years her mother strayed from the gray scale she was used to and went towards the spectrum giving some sort of life to the many work designated clothes she possessed. Blue highlighted the strength in her shoulders and red the softness of her skin. Purple was a good, soft color for her, but green was her father's favorite; it illuminated out the beauty of her eyes in a way Etta was insanely jealous of.

Her mother had lost both her mother and father at a young age, she guessed; considering she had never met them nor did her mother mention them. The few pictures in the house Olivia hung on the walls with care and wouldn't let anyone _dare _touch them. When she was seventeen she committed her life to serving in the Marines, a noble feat Etta secretly commended her mother for but never could tell her how much she admired that. She knew Olivia and her father met while they were working together, and how Olivia ended up pregnant with Etta _before _they got married. Etta had heard that threat on many occasions- should _she _get pregnant before she was married... it was an idea Etta shuttered to think about.

She knew her mother hailed from Jacksonville and was a secret country girl at heart. Many times she'd wake up on the weekends to hear the radio blasting a country station she never heard of or one of the many CDs her mother owned would be twanging away over the speakers. It was the reason Etta disliked country music so much. That's all her mother would play. On the occasion they'd switch to jazz when her father requested, mostly at night after Etta was put to bed. She was five years old when caught them one night swaying in the living room, a bottle of chilled wine on the table as Miles Davis hummed softly around them. Nuzzled closely against his chest Peter held her mother as they gazed into one another's eyes and slow danced between the couch and the table.

Thinking back on it Etta believed that was the night her brother was conceived. Counting nine months back from when he was born was just around that time. To even _imagine _her parents doing _it_, let alone on her favorite _couch_, made her gag incessantly.

She also knew, without a hint of irony, that she was her mother's daughter. Her father had pointed that fact that on numerous occasions since Etta had come into her teenage years a few months ago.

They talked the same- the same cadence, smooth and even with similar emphasis on certain words and phrases. Their tempers were just as, if not, equally offsetting. They both had the same fierce look during an argument; it was the same flat lipped, tight cheeked expression that Etta could replicate flawlessly when she and Olivia went at it. Her father would swear he was looking at mirror images. He used to tell her stories of when Olivia was pregnant with Etta's brother and the fights they used to get into at night. '_I chocked it up to hormones_,' Peter would chuckle_, 'but you mother's not one to argue with_.' Etta learned that the hard way one night after she broke curfew last summer, coming home to find her mother pacing the kitchen and her cell phone squeezed in her hand. Immediately the questions began; _where were you? It's past midnight! Who's this boy you've been hanging out with? Were you out with him tonight? Why didn't you call us? I was about to send the entire Division out to find you!_

It was a battle so fierce, so equally repelling that it forced Peter and her brother to retreat for higher ground knowing that all holy hell was about to rip lose on whatever poor soul got trapped between the two. They had the same short fuse that was almost _too _easy to trigger. Sometimes her brother would do it on purpose just for sheer entertainment; he'd go into her room, read her diary and go running about the house screaming the name of his sister's latest crush to the world. One day he got into her phone and sent messages out to every boy in her phone book.

The level of damage control needed at school was _unfathomable_.

When her brother was in the firing line Etta would smile. For once her mother was on her side and grounded him until he was well below six feet under.

Their stubbornness was a common Dunham trait, Etta learned from her father, and one that was not to be taken lightly. He would often console her after a big argument with her mother, telling her stories of all the times he ran and hid because of something he said. They'd get into fights about _everything _during a normal work day; lunch, who was driving to what scene, if Walter- her long-since-passed grandfather- would ever be able to live on his own, and as previously stated, lunch. Etta knew her mother was protective, but she wished some days she'd simply _lighten up._ The entire world wasn't filled with criminals and she didn't need to be treated like one either.

Etta knew her mother was a cop; a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, a job that her mother had been involved with since she was twenty-two, and wanted to do since she was nine. She knew her mother was a military brat who lived in almost every coastal state growing up and attended Northwestern University, graduating with a Master's degree in criminology with a duel minor in psychology and forensics while she served her country. Her father was the smart one, he'd joke, but her mother had the wits.

They walked the same, tall and proud with square shoulders that paralleled the floor perfectly. Strong legs held a stronger personality in them both. Although, much to Etta's dismay there was a commanding presence she had not yet learned to master from her mother. She noticed it on the occasional trips she would take to the Federal Building in the city. Upon walking past those grand glass doors her mother's demeanor changed in the blink of an eye. She walked taller, straighter, and firmer. Olivia may not have realized it but after they passed the foyer Olivia Bishop became the well-known _Special_ _Agent Dunham_, a name that was recognized all throughout the Bureau and respected just as equally. The concept behind her work, however, was a mystery to Etta and one Olivia would never divulge. It couldn't be anything exciting, Etta decided, because all she ever saw her mother do was paperwork and sit around a desk drinking coffee.

After all, that's what most cops did, wasn't it? They sat around a desk looking at files and photographs and on occasion arrest some drug dealer or potential terrorist. Many of the Agents who worked in her mother's building were old, grumpy and overweight; their shirt buttons popping at the slightest breath they'd take and the heaviest thing they'd lift was the thickest Boston Cream doughnut in the box. They wobbled when they walked and probably couldn't even fit in the elevator.

What was more embarrassing was the fact Olivia made it a point to every boy Etta brought home that she worked for the FBI. Hell, the _entire_ high school knew her mother was a cop. Every kid whose parents were involved in law enforcement was on the radar. It wasn't too bad until one afternoon the FBI came in to give a lecture on drugs and how violence and gangs were creating bad influences on children. Of all people Etta's mother had been asked to talk a little about her experience in the drug world. That day she had seemingly gone out of her way to embarrass her daughter by waving to her.

That was the day her social life took a helpless, spiraling nosedive south. It was the day Etta decided her mother wasn't a cool soccer mom like many of her friends, but an incredible embarrassment to all teenage-kind.

Drawing in a deep, quivering breath she sighed, remembered her words, harsh and undeserved as they stood inside Macy's just hours ago, Olivia chatting up the clerk as she rung up the items to purchase.

"_Are you sure you don't need anything while we're out?" asked Olivia as she zipped her bag closed, rolling her eyes as Etta wandered slowly behind her. "Etta," she said and yanked one ear bud from her daughter's ear, gaining her attention. Etta huffed in aggravation. "I said do you need anything while we're out?" _

"_No," she shrugged, "Can we please go home now?" _

"_I've got a few more stops to make before we go home," Olivia replied as they walked through the parking lot. "I thought we said this was going to be a ladies day out, and why do I feel like I'm the having all the fun?" _

_Placing her hands on her hips Etta scuffed her sneaker against the ground and jutted her bottom lip out. "Because you are the only one having fun. Why can't you just drop me off at home?" _

_Olivia grinned at her daughter over her shoulder, "What, you seem like you're embarrassed to be shopping with your mother." _

_Crossing her arms Etta turned her chin upward. "You don't even like shopping so why drag me into this suck fest?"_

_Sighing Olivia turned from the parking lot. "Don't say that, it's not appropriate. And considering it's the one day I've had off in a while I figured we could bond like we used to. Since your father and brother are out at the science museum, which I know you have not even the slightest interest in it's you and me, kiddo." _

_Sighing heavily Olivia nodded in dismay. "One more stop and we'll go home," she said solemnly. "I need to get something for your cousin's birthday next month. I can't believe Ella's going to be twenty-one…" With no response from her daughter Olivia dropped the subject as they pulled into a parking lot, her sights set on a jewelry store and a pair of earrings she knew Ella would like. _

In the realm of parental knowledge there was _one _thing, however, Etta Bishop did not.

Her mother- her stubborn, straight haired, Irish/Scottish with a hint of Italian, no nonsense FBI Fringe Division- whatever _that _was- Agent mother would, without hesitation, put her life on the line for those she loved.

"_What do you think about this one?" Olivia asked her, holding up a pair of earrings that glistened in the light. Etta shrugged and turned back to her music, ignoring her mother completely as Olivia sighed, shaking her head and asked to see the bracelet on the other side of the store._

_As she wondered around she caught sight of a man in the corner as he talked with a jeweler behind the glass case, pointing and examining a diamond that shown brightly. Etta didn't even have time to hear the screams as the man pulled out a gun and barricaded the door, ordering for everyone to drop their bags and get to the ground. Once Olivia pulled Etta's shoulders down and covered her with her body Etta felt a wave of panic. Pulling Etta's phone from her pocket Olivia snuck it between their bodies and dialed 911, covering the speaker to mute the voice of the operator._

"_Just relax, baby girl, once they get the jewels he wants he's going to leave. He's not going to shoot anyone." Olivia soothed into her ear, calm and commanding as she ran a finger through Etta's hair, "We're gonna be fine. Just breathe, Etta, breathe. Do. Not. Move." _

_Calmly and carefully Olivia reached behind her, her palm pressed into the skin of her back as she reached under Etta's jacket and towards her bag where her gun resided. Etta's body shuttered as she felt the coldness of the weapon crawl stealthy across her bare back. With the robber's back turned Olivia slipped her weapon into the hem of Etta's jeans and below her jacket. Releasing the safety she sat up and pulling Etta into her arms to completely conceal her weapon. _

_Had Etta let out a scream she couldn't hear it from the humming of her ears. _

_The gunman grabbed her daughter instantly and shoved the barrel underneath her chin as Olivia panicked, begging the man to let her daughter go, mania glistened red in his eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded with him to point the gun down, to change aim of it away from her daughter. _

"_You don't want to do this, believe me," Olivia said with light words, her arms extended and her hands up, her voice shook. "Please, let my daughter go, I beg you. Just… take what you want and leave these innocent people alone. They've done nothing to bring you harm and neither should you." _

_The robber grinned angrily, "Consider this a warning," he said and raised the barrel of the gun toward the ceiling and fired, the empty shell falling to the ground. "One more outburst and the next one is for you, little lady," he spat and threw Etta towards Olivia who caught her with open arms. Gripping her tightly Olivia whispered sweet words into Etta's ear. _

_Sirens echoed through the city as the man dressed in black glanced through the glass confused. He had disabled the alarm last week when posing as a repairman. "Who called the cops?" he screamed, the barrel of his weapon flaring carelessly into the air as his finger sat delicately on the trigger. Immediately he began picking through each bag. Etta felt Olivia power down the phone instantly and slip it into Etta's jeans. _

"_It was me," said Olivia calmly as she removed the phone from Etta's pocket, "I meant to call my husband before you walked in, he's just above the speed dial for the police, I'm sorry," her voice quivered, but Etta saw right past it. She chucked the phone to the man who threw it against a wall. _

"_I knew you were going to be trouble," he said, his eyes red with anger as he reached for Etta who screamed. _

_It was in that moment that Etta watched Olivia act, swift and strong as she tackled the man and attempted to bat his weapon from his hand. Instead he swung, hitting Etta in the cheek with the butt of the gun while Olivia pushed him backward. In three leaps she ran towards Etta, turning and pulling the gun from her daughter's jeans, yelling something to Etta as the man grabbed his weapon and aimed. _

_Etta watched in both fear and fascination as Olivia pushed her to the ground blocking the path of the bullet. Her stance wide and eyes fierce she squeezed the trigger and fired._

She remembered watching the robber's body fall into a glass case, shattering it completely as he lay breathless and limp on a pile of broken metal and blood covered jewels. Voices of those in the store at the time gasped and hugged one another for the hero that stood before them. Etta remembered an overwhelming sense of pride to see her mother's body towering before her, strong and true as her weapon smoked and her shoulders fell in relief. The marksmanship her mother displayed was unbelievable, the bravery was unmatched and the sacrifice she was willing to make was honest and integral.

It was that moment of realization, when her mother selflessly jumped in front of the bullet, there were many things about her mother she did not know and suddenly wished she did. In the blink of an eye, that heart-stopping second when the robber fired Olivia literally _took _the bullet for her daughter. The stray piece of deadly metal sunk deep into Olivia's chest as she shoved her daughter to the ground and pulled her hidden weapon, hitting the thief square between the eyes and sent him flying.

She remembered her mother staggering- the first unsure step she had _ever_ seen her take. Olivia's face draining of color as she smiled toward Etta relieved to see her unharmed before dropping to her knees and gasping for breath. Blood pouring out of the wound faster than Etta could think. She felt her mother's always strong hands suddenly clammy and weak and cold as she took Etta's hands in hers, a blood bond created between them as she cried an emotion Etta could not register. Her sticky fingers tracing Etta's cheek bones, painting them a velvet crimson red as she spoke quietly, words barely audible and cloaked with a hidden uncertainty that Etta saw through instantly.

"_Don't be scared, baby girl, you're gonna be fine."_

Those were the last words Olivia spoke before she lost consciousness, leaving Etta to panic and press her hands firmly against the gaping wound in any attempt to feel for a heartbeat, begging her to fight it. Seconds seemed like years before the paramedics arrived and told Etta it was okay to let go. She couldn't though, that implied something more sinister than she wanted to admit. They worked fast; covering her gaping wound with a thick gauze pad, hooked her up to an EKG and began talking to one another in some foreign medical language Etta couldn't comprehend. They shoved two large needles into her veins and pumped her full of fluid to compensate for what she had lost. Before she knew it her mother's hand slipped lifelessly out of hers as she was rushed to the hospital. She remembered Uncle Phillip showing up and ushering her into his car, rushing them to Boston General.

As he sped through the city a curious thought struck Etta. It was amazing how things blurred together as they sped past the still people of the streets, who walked by aimlessly unaware of the terrors that plagued the world she lived in. No one seemed to notice the sirens that wailed and the flash of blue and red strobes. This must have been what her mother experienced on a day to day basis. Racing to save the lives of a stranger she had never met all for the cause of the greater good, because it was the right thing to do.

Everything she ever said to her mother she wanted to take back in that very moment the ventilator compressed again, pulling Etta out of her reverie, and pumped oxygen delicately into her mother's lungs. The intubation tube kept her quiet and asleep, drugged up on whatever coma-inducing cocktail the doctors ordered to keep her sedated and pain free. She remembered the devastation on her father's face as he came barreling into the emergency room with her brother at his side. She was in surgery for nine hours. Hour ten the Doctor came finally emerged and gave him the news Peter didn't want to hear, pulling the blood covered surgical mask from his tired face.

"_Your wife suffered a severe blow to the chest, Mr. Bishop. There was a gash in the left ventricle of her heart where the bullet pierced the tissue we've placed a patch over to control the bleed, but I cannot guarantee it will hold. We also cleared her left lung of any blood and in a few hours we will attempt to slowly inflate the lung again. We need to keep her under until we can be one-hundred percent sure the patch we placed over the left ventricle of her heart will hold. The next twenty-four hours will tell if we will be able to remove the ventilator, Mr. Bishop."_

That was thirty-six hours ago.

Now, sitting her mother in a dark hospital room, her mother's hand cool hand locked securely between hers, Etta sat numb and motionless, staring at the woman she was too proud to admit she admired.

This was her fault, she silently told herself.

Had she simply enjoyed the day Olivia planned perhaps her mother wouldn't be fighting for her life. They would be at home barbequing on the deck while Peter slipped her a few sips of his beer and her brother splashed in the pool. She was a selfish brat who was too concerned with herself to worry about others, and could care less about everything that didn't deal with her friends or the latest TV program. She wasn't programmed to be concerned with anyone but herself. All_ she_ cared about was her friends dictated and what God-awful outfit the overweight, ache-covered, lisping nerd Jessica Warren wore to school while her mother was off defending those innocent lives Etta and her friends teased every single day of school.

She was truly a lost cause. If Etta could ever become just a _fraction_ of the woman Olivia Dunham was it would be a miracle.

She glanced towards the other side of the bed where Peter slept soundly, his head slumped on the bed by Olivia's waist and his hand clenched tightly into hers. He hadn't left her side since she came out of the operating room; the chair he sat in became his home away from home. Standing finally Etta wiped her dry eyes and hesitantly left her mother's side, kissing her delicate cheek before exciting the room. She shoved her hands deep in her pockets in an attempt to find something to hold on to.

All she found was emptiness.

To the left sat her Aunt Rachel and Uncle Greg as they chatted quietly over a cup of coffee. To the right, down at the end of the hallway sat her cousins Ella and Eddie as they played a game quietly in the corner with her brother. Glancing left again she sniffed as Rachel caught her eye and stood up, immediately hugging her niece and kissed her forehead.

"You look tired, Etta," Rachel said slowly, her eyes soft and tender, "Why don't you go home you go home with Ella and Charlie, sleep a little."

Wiping her bloodshot eyes Etta shook her head. "I want to stay. Dad needs someone where with him." What she really meant was she didn't want to leave. She refused to. God forbid something happened and she wasn't there Etta would never be able to forgive herself.

Just like her mother, Rachel grinned and moved a piece of hair behind her ear. "You certainly are your mother's daughter. Kind, noble, selfless-"

"No, I'm not," she interjected quickly, "I'm nothing like her. She's the selfless one; I'm just a big brat."

Hugging her again Rachel nuzzled her cheek. "But you're _my_ brat." Sensing her shot at amusement failed Rachel sighed, she saw something else reverberate in Etta's saddened stare. "Sweetheart this isn't your fault."

"Yes it is," she cried against Rachel's chest, "If I hadn't been such a jerk to her, if I actually _enjoyed _the time she wanted to spend we wouldn't have been in the store when it happened and she couldn't be here with a hole in her chest-" she continued to ramble on as she held her Aunt, tears soaking the t-shirt she wore.

From behind her she felt her father's soft hands on her shoulders. "Sounds like someone else has a hole in their chest. Your mother's strong, baby. She'll make it through this." She turned and her heart sank to see her father wore she same shade of uncertainty and sadness over his face- pale cheeks and swollen pink eyes. Releasing her Aunt from her grip Etta turned into her father's strong arms and hugged him, whispering a thousand apologies for bringing this upon their family.

"I'd give anything to be able to take back what I said and make her okay."

Nodding thanks to Rachel, Peter hooked his arm around Etta's shoulders and pulled her down the hallway, through the elevator doors and outside the hospital into the garden that sat just beyond the cafeteria. Enjoying the warmth of the sun Peter sat down on an old wooden bench and held his daughter close, allowing Etta to cry until her tears dried up. Her father's favorite shirt soaked each and every droplet she let slip, absorbing them up until there were various puddles scattered on his clothes sticking to his skin and leaving a salty residue behind.

Finally she spoke again, quiet and delicate, "What happened in the jewelry store the other day, is that what it's like? What she faces every day, what you two _see_?"

Nibbling on his lip Peter chose his words carefully. "Your mother wanted to keep the nature of job a secret from you and your brother until you were older, but I feel it's high time you understood _exactly_ what your mother did. Your mother _is_ an FBI Agent, Etta, but there's much more to it. Fringe Division isn't your run of the mill investigative unit. You remember a few years ago when a serial killer was on the loose and he was melting bodies?" Her head bobbed once, she answered him with a solid stare. "Your mother was the lead investigators for that case. The incident with strange lights being seen from the horizons and the Benson murders?"

Her eyes widened. "It was _your _division that investigated that? Those… children that guy murdered, and what he did to the families," she trailed off in astonishment. "Mom was the lead Agent?" Peter nodded.

"Your mother isn't harsh or overprotective because she wants to ruin your life or embarrass you in front of your friends; she does it because of the things we've seen. She does it to protect you. There's many, many nights after we finish a case where she cries for the victims, for the families, and cries because she knows you two are safe in your beds. If that means she has to work eighty hours a week she will do it. Your mother has seen the unimaginable, the impossible, and _literally_ been through hell and back, honey; She loves you and your brother too much to let anything happen to you."

Sitting back against the warm wood Etta let her mind wonder in both fear and curiosity, "What kind of hell? Does it have something to do with her father? You talk about Grandpa Walter all the time, but never about Mom's family, Aunt Rachel being the exception. Ella knows but she won't tell me."

Peter too leaned back. This was by far _not_ the conversation he wished to have with his thirteen year old daughter given the circumstances- but seeing the curiosity that shone in her eyes Peter licked his lips, his silence confirming what Etta asked. "Your mother and Aunt Rachel's real father was killed while her served in the Army. He died after a car bomb went off on a tour across seas when Olivia was five. She lost her mother after a devastatingly short battle with pancreatic cancer; Olivia had just turned fourteen. But that wasn't what made her the way she is."

Etta drew in a deep, steady breath. "So then what did?"

He hesitated momentarily, searching her eyes for any reason not to continue but he was in too deep. "Olivia had a stepfather, and he was a drunken bastard. Each night he'd polish off a bottle or two of Jack Daniels, and like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde he'd go crazy. The man Olivia knew wasn't a man anymore. He was a monster. He'd do… _things_ to your grandmother, and when Olivia tried to stop him…" He stopped as tears choked his eyes, feeling his heart wrench at the idea of someone laying a hand on his wife.

"He beat her," Etta whispered, her eyes wide with realization as she shuttered at her father's reaction.

He nodded once and swallowed a lump in his throat. "Your mother didn't want you to know this, Etta, because of what tragedy that transpired in her life. She didn't want to burden you with the thought of her childhood being a horror film. When she first told me I didn't know what to make of it."

"So what did Mom do about him, her stepfather?"

Peter sighed, leaning forward and rubbed his tired eyes. "He came after her one night after beating her mother within an inch of her life. She ran upstairs and into their bedroom where he kept a gun inside his bedside table. When he came barreling into the room she pulled the trigger. She was-"

"-nine years old," Etta picked up his sentence, her eyes squinting as she read his face. "That's why she went into the Marines, why she joined the FBI."

Sitting back he laced his fingers between hers. "It's because of our life experiences that make us the way we are, sweetheart, your mother's just happened to not be as pleasant as other people have had it. But she uses that as motivation to fight those who want to watch the world burn, because she _knows _how horrible life can be. But seeing what she's achieved, how she sees you two growing up is what she's the most thankful for. I have never seen her face light up more than it does when she's with you and your brother. Just because you two don't get along sometimes does _not_ mean she loves you any less. You and Charlie are by far her greatest accomplishment, Henrietta, and she'd proud of you. She will _always _be proud of you."

With fresh tears lining her cheeks Etta turned into her father's arms and cried again at the beauty and truth of what he spoke. With puffy eyes she smiled, a silent thank you towards Peter and kissed his chin.

"Mr. Bishop," came the voice of one of the nurses behind them, "Dr. Shepard wanted to let you know we've just extubated your wife, she's off the ventilator and is breathing on her own."

Glancing at one another Peter and Etta jumped up and ran past the nurse and up the six flights of stairs into the intensive care unit, their hearts pounding in time with their feet as the door to the floor flew open. Running down the hallway Peter slowed his pace to see Ella, Eddie and Charlie all huddled together outside the room, Greg leaning behind them and happy tears on their faces. Inside Rachel held Olivia's hand as she glazed an ice chip around her sister's dry lips, Olivia's eyes half-moons and pale. Etta stopped in the door frame and watched as her father walked slowly towards her mother, his breathing ragged. Rachel stood smiling and let Peter slip into her place.

His bottom lip trembled as he burst into a crying fit muttering Olivia's name over and over as he bent down and kissed her, cupping her warm cheeks in his palms and ran his fingers through her hair. Raising a weak hand she traced his cheeks and wiped a line of tears from his face as she gave him a small smile. Feeling the length of the scruff beneath her fingertips she frowned giving him a look of disapproval. Peter knew she liked it shorter. Pressing his lips against hers again he turned towards where Charlie stood crying, clinging to his sister. Olivia motioned for her son to come over. Peter lifted him into the bed, urging him to be gentle as Olivia kissed his forehead, moving the long black hair away and hugged her son.

Glancing back towards the doorway again Olivia caught sight of Etta's fearful face and swallowed, "Etta," she managed her voice dry and scratchy.

That was all she needed to walk towards her mother and embrace her completely, free tears falling from both their eyes as Etta followed Charlie's lead and sat next to Olivia, crying into the nape of her neck. "I love you, Mama," Etta whispered against her wet skin, "Forever, I love you."

Olivia replied simply with a pressed kiss to her forehead as she embraced her closer despite the tug on her stitches, feeling her heart swell with joy to see her daughter safe and sound with only a topical scratch on her. Running her fingers through Etta's blonde locks she swallowed dryly again as Etta curled into her shoulder and Peter grabbed her hand. After a few minutes Charlie and Etta moved, allowing for their cousins to greet their Aunt with equally happy tears and bright smiles.

The next day Olivia was moved out of the ICU and into a step-down unit, a feat that according to the Doctors who worked on her should have been a nearly impossible task given the depth of her injuries. They openly admitted she shouldn't have survived with the damage that was done internally, between the crippling gash on the main ventricle of her heart, the hemothorax she sustained and the numerous torn arteries and broken ribs from the impact of the bullet, she had become something of a medical miracle.

Then again, her doctor mused, miracles _did_ happen.

That same night Etta returned home with her father to get some much needed sleep, fetch a pair of pajamas for her mother and a hairbrush. She planned to pin her mother's locks into a French braid tomorrow, a small task that would make her feel more like a human and less like a patient. Olivia had spent enough time in hospitals to truly _despise _them, she learned and if that was enough to keep her sane Etta would be happy to oblige. If all went well she would be discharged home the week after next and out of work for at least a few months while she recovered. She'd need help around the house which Etta was planning on doing already.

After stepping out of the shower and dressing for bed Etta ran a brush through her hair slowly, contemplating the events of the past four or so says. In the blink of an eye she had almost lost the one person that she connected with. It was at that moment she realized she really _did _look like her mother. They had the same face, the same hair, the same neck line and the same hands. They looked similar when they cried and mirrored one another while they laughed. They grinned the same, smile the same and poked fun at her father the same, with a familiar sense of humor that Peter would roll his eyes at.

Tomorrow at school she would put an end to the teasing, tormenting and cruel jokes her friends played on the geeky kids during lunch. If that meant making new friends, so be it, she decided. It was unfair to judge someone based on looks or personality. Truly you never knew what someone's life was like until you stepped into their shoes. Her mother was a prime example of that. From then on she'd be the woman she dreamed she could be; noble, confident, always ready to defend the weak and innocent from the cruel and demented.

Everyone needed someone to believe in, to look up to and turn to in their darkest hour of the day. Her mother had been that person for both friends and strangers alike.

She could _be _that person if she worked hard and pulled her grades out of the gutter. She _wanted _become the person she admired, the hero she adored and the woman she knew she needed to be in these next coming months. Her father spoke the truth when he said that life experiences are what make us the way we are. She would defend those who needed her help and stand for what was right, not just what was easy. She would work to put those who wanted to cause harm in a place they couldn't.

Etta would become everything she dreamed she could be. She wanted to be brave like Olivia, unmoving, to not be afraid to run the fire without any hesitation on the safety of her own life- if it meant saving another. She wanted to be a hero. A defender. A protector. A friend. A shoulder to cry on and a hand to reach for when all seemed dark. She could become a strong wife and a caring lover. She wanted to be someone to show people that no matter how bad things got miracles still existed beyond the realm of human comprehension. She wanted to be everything she knew she could be in the face of despair and prove there was still good in this world, that in the dark there was always light. She wanted to prove that no one needed to be afraid of the world outside them.

For Etta Bishop, her mother had done exactly that.


End file.
